"You're a doctor. In fact you're an army doctor"

"Yes"

"Any good?"

"Very good"

"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths"

Of course he had seen them. Too much pain, work, tears and blood. Those years were the hell of his life. He met Hell and all its Demons. John looked for redemption, he wanted to forget that life he believed didn't exist.

But he came back alive. And this time, he wasn't going to waste his new chance.

"Well. Yes."

"Bit of trouble too I bet"

"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh god yes."

And both brothers ran thorough the stairs, feeling the excitement running in their veins. They didn't share the same blood. They shared something stronger.

Brotherhood.

And when John climbed into that cab with Sherlock Holmes he decided it was for the best to play along. His brother, Sherlock, had changed a lot. He wasn't that young man he used to remember. He looked sad, dark. Even when he had a huge smile on his face, John knew Sherlock was a sad man. He could see that just looking into his grey and stormy eyes. He always did it. And with one look, John could always see what was happening inside his brother's mind.

"What happened, Sher?"

"Nothing"

"I can see it, Sher. What happened?"

"Mother won't get me a skull this Christmas"

Just looking into a fourteen year old Sherlock, John knew how disappointed his brother was.

His journey to the past was interrupted by the main character of his dreams.

"Okay, you've got questions."

And John played along.

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective..."

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives"

John could see the little smirk forming in Sherlock's face. If he was lucky enough, the detective wasn't going to discover the hint of 'I already know you' on his voice.

"I'm, a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job"

"What does it mean?"

"It means whenever the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me"

"The police don't consult amateurs"

John smiled a bit, trying to break the ice, as they say. But Sherlock looked at him with a look. A look John never saw until that moment.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists, you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic, wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq"

"You said I had a therapist"

"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone, it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches, not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already."

Sherlock flipped his mobile, that mobile phone Harry gave to him when he returned to London a few weeks ago. She said I'll call you and it had been days since he last saw her.

"The engraving?"

"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then, six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted to get rid of it, he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

Because Sherlock was right. And wrong. Wrong, because he could never see Clara as a woman, when Clara was the woman who shared with them so many moments when he was a child. When they were children. Because Clara, the same young maid who used to make them breakfast and help them to haunt frogs for experiments was the same Clara who one day, after going with them to London to secretly visit Harry, fell in love with her. And he was right, because his sister, his biological sister was a drinker.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection, tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see? You were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

And a very long and awkward silence invaded the atmosphere. Until John said what he always said after a good deduction.

"That was amazing"

"You think so?"

Sherlock turned around to face him. And he smiled and John could see his grey eyes shinning again. Just like when they were kids.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary"

"That's not what people normally say"

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off!"

And they laughed. They shared a good laugh when the cab stopped and then both men were walking together, side by side on a cold and dark street.

Later, Sherlock wanted to know if he had been wrong, even when he was confident enough to say he was right.

"Well, Harry is a drinker. Harry and Clara are divorcing. Harry's short for Harriet-"

"Sister! You have a sister!"

"Yes, I only have a sister" Replied the Army Doctor with a hint of sadness on his voice but then he could see they were approaching a crime scene with policemen running from one place to another, the whole street was closed to the public but yet his brother, Sherlock Holmes, was walking on it with him like if he were the owner of it. And John felt that familiar sensation again. That sensation, that feeling of walking besides Sherlock. The security Sherlock always provided him with was priceless.

Because John was always the awkward one. The short one of them, who usually looked at the floor when he was walking. And Sherlock, he was all the opposite. He always looked up when he was walking, with his chin up. And when they were young, Sherlock was always there for him.

Like that night.

But that night, John met the new Sherlock.

This new Sherlock was careless towards people. He was still that secure man, with his chin up on the air. But his new air of superiority was something that made him look dark. And John met this by first hand when he noted how all the policemen, the forensic team and even the same DI Lestrade looked at him with that look. That look which expressed fear, distance and hatred.

For some reason, people disliked Sherlock.

This wasn't new. But when they were at University, people used to talk with Sherlock and he was used to talk to them. Not like Sherlock was the most popular guy, no. But people certainly had some respect and some friendly feelings towards him.

Now, people looked at him with a very weird look.

And John could feel the same sadness Sherlock felt.

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there"

Sally Donovan, as Sherlock introduced her to him, said the most painful words he could have ever hear since he was back from Afghanistan. Because he didn't know anything about Sherlock Holmes. About this Sherlock Holmes. Everyone, not talking but looking at him with pity were telling him the same. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes. All of them.

Even this woman who had been the victim of the detective's deductions, told John to stay away from Sherlock.

And something told John to stay with him.

Because John Watson wasn't going to give up. He was going to be by Sherlock's side no matter how hard it could be. And no matter how hurtful it was for his heart. Because for some reason, Sherlock Holmes didn't remember John at all.

He realized something was wrong when he passed two phones, two different ringing phones. And the third caught his full attention. A voice, a male voice John swore he knew by heart was talking to him and giving him indications. He could see the man speaking had full power judging by his indication and how the famous CCTV cameras around the city were moving towards him. And then a black car was parking by the side of the street and a man in black suit gestured him to get in.

And for some reason, John decided to take a leap of faith and meet this man.

A very pretty woman, who was sitting beside him, was deeply concentrated on the mobile phone on her manicured hands and John couldn't help but ask himself if he knew her. He was sure he saw that woman before, in some place. But he couldn't remember. She was certainly pretty, and he didn't hesitate asking her name, but she gave him a fake one.

"I'm John"

"I know"

"Any point asking where I am going?"

"Not at all, John. But you'll see"

After a few minutes, the car stopped inside a deserted warehouse. It was perfectly clean to be deserted and John saw a figure. A tall man was standing a few meters away from where the car was parked. He was wearing a dark suit and he had an umbrella on his right hand. John couldn't clearly see who that man was until he walked a few steps and his heart stopped beating.

"Have a sit, John"

He was Mycroft Holmes.

I promise I'll update this more frequently. I'm even working on the next chapter right now.